“No, but I’m not a Bible thumper, either,” Barb replied, smiling. “I’m finding that there are many ways to God. Each chooses his or her own. And you make beautiful jewelry. Do you make custom pieces?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Do you want one?”
“Thinking about it,” Barbara admitted. “But I’ll have to think about what.”
“When you’ve got a design in mind, call me,” the woman said, handing her a card. “My husband does the design work and I make the jewelry.”
“Thank you,” Barb replied, taking the card and inserting it in her purse. “Go with God.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, smiling. “I will.”
Towards the back of the room was a large freestanding booth just about covered in weapons, armor and leather accoutrements, some of which Barbara half turned her eyes from. The racks hid the center of the booth so she peeked in, letting out a startled squeak of surprise at the sight of the dealer. He was about seven feet high and skeletally thin, with long graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. His arms were covered in tattoos so old and faded they were hard to make out. But what was especially startling were his eyes, which had red irises and a vertical pupil.
“Contacts,” the man said in a deep baritone. “They’re contacts.”
“Oh,” Barb replied, embarrassed at her reaction. “Sorry.”
“I get it all the time,” the man said, grinning. When he smiled his formidable looks faded into the background. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“No,” Barbara said, taking a glance around the interior, carefully skipping over some of the studded pieces she suspected she knew the purpose of, and then stopping at a sword that was on display as a centerpiece. It was a katana, but something told her it wasn’t just a cheap knockoff. “Oh, my,” she continued, sliding past the dealer to look more closely at the sword. The price tag dangling from it told her all she needed to know about its authenticity. “…Murasaki?”
“Yes,” the man said, sliding past her in turn and lifting the sword down carefully. “For anyone who can identify it that quick, I’ll take it down.”
Barb took the sword in a perfect two-handed grip and examined the wavery light reflected from the dark steel. “Beautiful,” she said, turning it from side to side to look down the blade. It was perfectly balanced for her.
“I found it in a pawnshop,” the man said, shaking his head. “It was just about covered with rust. The guy thought it was one of the World War Two souvenir swords. I spent three years rebuilding it, working the blade inch by inch when I had time and the right energies.”
Barbara closed her eyes and opened her link, feeling for the sword. Then her eyes flew open.
“This sword has a soul,” she said, softly.
“The maker put his energies into it,” the man replied, just as softly. “That was why I only worked on it when I had the right energy.”
“You can’t give a soul,” Barb said, looking up at him.
“You can give of yourself,” the man contradicted. “The soul is ever refilling and the more you give of it, the more you gain.”
“Did you put your soul into it?” Barbara asked, comparing the feel of the man, which was deep and a tad dark, to the feel of the sword. The sword was… remarkably neutral.
“Not really,” the man replied, shaking his head. “I simply showed it that it was once again cherished and loved. It is not for me, though. Its soul and mine are not in full harmony. It is for someone else.”
“Not me,” Barb said, handing it back regretfully. “Not at sixty grand.” As the man placed his hand on it, Barb’s spasmed shut and she grabbed at her head as a wave of evil seemed to wash over the room.
“Are you okay?” the man said as Barb finally relinquished the sword.
“Fine,” Barb gasped as the wave passed. “Headache. I have to go now.”
She stumbled out of the booth and settled in a convenient chair. The wave of evil had passed but it left a numbing miasma behind it.
“Barb, are you okay?” Janea asked after a moment.
“Did you feel that?” Barb asked.
“No,” Janea replied. “What?”
“Our friend is definitely at this con.”
Chapter Nine
It was really strong,” Barb said. Janea had called Greg and helped her up to their room where they were met by the FBI agent. “It had a feel to it, like a predator. Like you look up and there are the eyes of a beast staring at you from a cliff. Not a clean beast, either, a horrible one. I think, maybe, he’d seen his quarry.”
“Then we need to find him, fast,” Greg said. “Before he leaves with her.”
“The girls haven’t been killed during the cons, have they?” Janea asked.
“No,” Greg admitted.
“Then he’s probably going to stalk her for a while,” Janea pointed out. “Hopefully, he’ll stay here for the full con. We’ve got time.”
“Any direction to this feeling?” Greg asked.
“Not really,” Barbara said, shaking her head and taking a drink of water. What she really wanted was a good, stiff drink of bourbon. “It was just… all around. He might even have been in the Dealers’ Room.”
“A dealer?” Greg asked. “That would narrow it down some.”
“There were lots of people in there shopping,” Janea pointed out. “I wish Barb had been a bit more fit; we could have looked around.”
“I didn’t get any feel from any of the dealers,” Barbara said. “Or any of the pieces, not a necromantic feel. One of the dealers was… a tad strange. But… he didn’t have the right feel, either. He was dark, but not evil.”
Greg considered her for a moment and opened and shut his mouth. Then he shrugged.
“The only thing I can figure out is to have you circulate,” Greg said, frowning. “Maybe if you meet him you’ll get a feel or whatever.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be willing to be open enough to get a… feel the rest of the con,” Barb said, sighing. “But you’re right.”
“I’m going to the Wharf Rat party,” Greg said. “Janea?”
“I’m going to go LARP,” Janea said, definitely. “I’d give odds it’s a LARPer.”
“I’ll just wander around,” Barbara said. “People talk to me. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Everybody’s got cell phones,” Greg noted. “Janea, if you get a twinge, call Barb and me. We’ll gather and study. I’ll do the same. Barb, if you get a twinge, call me. Right away. I know you ladies are… experts with this. But the idea here is to make an arrest. Before we go I’m going to call in and let them know that we have a good probability of having the suspect on site. FBI Headquarters will get some back-up up here. Hopefully Hostage Rescue Team.”
“If it comes down to a duel of power,” Janea noted, “HRT will only be in the way. And they’d better not come on with ‘we’re the experts here’ because they’re not.”
“There are HRT members who are briefed for Special Circumstance,” Greg pointed out.
“I know,” Janea snapped. “But they’ve also been damned brain-dead about it from time to time. And then you’ve got soul-sucked and dead HRT guys on your hands and there are questions and problems and…”
“I take your point,” Greg said, swallowing.
“The same goes for you, Greg,” Barbara pointed out, quietly. “If whoever this is has built up serious power, or has a serious channel, you could be the liability here. If I tell you to leave, you leave, got it?”
“Got it,” the FBI agent said, unhappily.
“I’m sorry I got bitchy,” Janea said, putting a hand on his arm. “But finally getting a real target nearly in the sights gets me horny and I get a backache. Sorry.”